The sense of contentment subsided a little when she trailed her index finger across his chest, tracing the letters of his tattoo. Not that her touch didn’t feel like heaven—it did—but questions wouldn’t be far behind and he was talked out on the subject of his military service. A part of him couldn’t believe he’d opened up like he had, simply because she’d asked him. The odd thing was he did feel better. Something about the unflinching way she handled the ugly mess he’d dumped on her—something beyond the amazingly restorative power of a great blowjob—made him feel almost…normal. He caught her hand and linked their fingers.
“The only easy day was yesterday?”
“It’s an unofficial SEAL motto. I got dragged out for standard commemorative ink after my first mission.” Ironically, the words had never really felt true until after his last.
“A bunch of us did the same thing after graduating from cosmetology school.”
“Seriously?” He’d inspected every inch of her mouthwatering body and he never noticed a tattoo.
She gave his chest a playful swat. “Hell, no. The idea of lying still while someone stabs me repeatedly with a needle to shove ink into my dermis sounds like a cruel and unusual punishment.”
“Depends on your definition of unusual, I suppose.”
She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. He could have sat there for days, in comfortable silence, listening to the rain patter on the roof, but for some screwed up reason he asked, “Why run for mayor?”
She let her head roll back so it rested against the couch. Their bodies didn’t lose contact, but he no longer had her breasts resting against his chest or her thigh next to his. And that was a damn shame. “Do you really want to talk about this?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if didn’t want to know. Don’t trust me with the truth?”
“No. I trust you. I’m just not sure this is a good topic for us.”
“Why?”
She looked uncomfortable with the question, even though they both knew the answer. “Because your dad is my opponent.”
“Despite my last name, I don’t really have a horse in this race.”
“How do you figure?”
“Because the cabin I’m staying in is outside the city limits. I’m not a Bluelick resident and, therefore, not eligible to vote.”
“Huh. Funny how that worked out.”
“Totally unplanned”—not that he was complaining—“but as a consequence, I’m asking out of personal interest only. Why run for mayor?”
She exhaled a long breath and turned her head to face him. “I don’t know if you remember Grandma Boca?”
He searched his memory for a face, but came up blank. “No.”
“No reason you would, but she played a big role in my life. No pun intended,” she added under her breath.
“Sorry?”
“Bad joke. Grandma was, well, larger than life. My mama used to say she had a problem with her glands, but as I got older, I realized she had an eating disorder. She was addicted to food, which is a tough addiction to break because you actually do have to eat. Her size made normal activities like walking and riding in a car an ordeal. She couldn’t just drive down to Boone’s Market to shop, or scoot over to Dalton’s Drugs to pick up a prescription, or even attend church. As she got wider, her world got very narrow—about as narrow as the four walls of my parents’ home—and I became her link to the rest of Bluelick. I loved my grandma and I didn’t want her to feel like she was missing out, so I made a point to talk to people, and listen, and learn everything I could about what was going on so I could share the news with her when I got home.”
Shaun imagined a teenaged Virginia talking with her grandmother, bonding over all the shit he tried to avoid…details about who was getting married, having babies, achieving something, or suffering a setback. “I’m sure she appreciated spending time with you, and the effort you took to make her feel included in everyday life.”
“She did, but she also pushed me to do more than just relay the information. She asked for my thoughts, my opinions, and my solutions. I can still hear her saying,
‘Peanut, if you were in this person’s shoes, what would you do?’”
“Peanut, huh?”
She narrowed her eyes and aimed her finger at him. “I’ve let you get away with calling me Virginia. Do not press your luck unless you’re ready to sacrifice a couple nuts of your own.”
He couldn’t fathom why the threat of having his balls torn off made him smile, but it did. “You were saying, Virginia?”
“I was saying Grandma B encouraged me to think about people’s problems, and what I could do to help. I mean, don’t get me wrong, she enjoyed a juicy piece of gossip as much as the next person—maybe more—but along with that, she had genuine concern and compassion, and a lack of patience for people who sat around complaining about a problem rather than trying to solve it. She always urged me to get involved. And I have, in my own little ways, but I can do more. For way too long I’ve sat around complaining about certain things that can only be fixed at the town council level, and it’s time for me to put up or shut up.”